


something new

by scootsaboot



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Double Penetration, Light daddy kink, M/M, Overstimulation, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-03 00:49:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11521041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scootsaboot/pseuds/scootsaboot
Summary: It's Rhys' birthday. Jack gives him a gift.





	something new

**Author's Note:**

> thanks @thirtysixsavefiles for the quick beta-work!! enjoy the porn :)

Rhys is drunk. Drunk enough to stumble over his feet as Jack pulls him toward the back of the club, hand wrapped tight around his wrist. It’s his birthday, and Rhys vaguely remembers Jack saying he had a gift for him. That was before they got to the club of course—after the shots Rhys had done, it’s hard to remember anything that was said beforehand.

Jack stops suddenly; or maybe it wasn’t suddenly and Rhys just wasn’t paying attention. Rhys bumps into him, giggling and leaning in. Jack pulls out a shiny yellow card and slides it in a slot to the side of the door. It lights up green and Jack turns the handle.

Rhys nearly falls over himself again when Jack takes a step inside. He clutches at the back of Jack’s jacket, stumbling along behind him.

“Christ’s sake, pumpkin,” Jack says, grabbing Rhys’ upper hand and manhandling him inside the room. He sets Rhys down none too gently on a sleek black couch. Rhys sinks into the leather and rubs his left hand over the material, finding it fascinating in his drunken stupor.

“Jack,” he whines when the other man doesn’t join him immediately. “Where’s my present?”

“If you’d stop fondling the couch for a sec, maybe you’d see it.” Jack shuts the door to the room and steps over to Rhys. He grabs Rhys’ chin in his hand and turns his head and—oh, there was someone sitting beside him on the couch.

It’s Jack.

Rhys’ eyebrows knit together in confusion. He looks at the Jack on the couch, then the Jack standing beside him.

“How much did I drink?” he mumbles, then closes his eyes and laughs in disbelief. Two Jacks. That’s definitely not something he thinks he can handle right now.

“Babe, you’re not seeing double.” Jack takes his hand off Rhys’ chin. “Well, okay, _yeah_. You are. But he’s real.” He steps over to his doppelganger, who looks like he wants to sink into the floor. Huh, Rhys has never seen that look on Jack’s face before. It’s weird.

Jack brings his hand down on the other him’s shoulder. “I thought, what’s Rhys’ favorite thing in the whole world? It’s my dick, obviously. So, I got you a second one! Nice, huh? You can save your grateful tears for another time.”

Rhys looks at the double. He does look like Jack, almost exactly. He has the same hair and ridiculous chin, but there’s no mask covering his face and Rhys can see the faintest splatter of freckles across his nose.

The double meets his eyes and smiles crookedly.

“Oh,” Rhys grins, toeing his shoes off and pulling his legs up onto the couch. “He’s _cute_.” He can’t help but crawl over to him, reaches out to touch his face. “How come he doesn’t have—“

“Yeah, he’s uh, first edition. Y’know, mint condition.” Jack says.

“You have _more_?” Rhys asks, aiming to tap his finger against the double’s nose. He hits his cheek instead and laughs when the man’s grin brightens a little.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t go around blabbing about it or I’ll have to drop you off a cliff.” Jack steps away from the couch, to the small bar against the wall. He starts to mix a couple drinks. “Legally, he’s _me_. But you can call him Tim, just so we’re clear whose name you’re screaming later.”

“ _God_ ,” Tim says under his breath, rolling his eyes.

“Wait,” Rhys says, sitting back on his knees, less than a foot of space between him and Tim. “What makes you think I want to have a threesome on my birthday? With two of _you?_ ”

Jack laughs, loud and obnoxious. “Ha, oh, that’s cute, Rhysie.” He grabs one of the drinks he just mixed and tosses it back. “Like you’re not gagging to have two of my dicks in you.”

Rhys pouts, but he can admit that the thought is appealing.

“Here kids,” Jack comes back over to them, a drink in either hand. “Loosen up, get cozy. Make out a little or something. I want a little less _Pride and Prejudice_ and little more _Backdoor Sluts 9_ in here.”

Rhys snorts and takes the drink offered to him. It’s almost neon in color and -- he takes a sip --sweet as candy. Just like the stuff he’d been drinking out in the club. He downs it in the next gulp, feeling warm and actually pretty stoked about getting his mouth on Tim.

He leans across Tim to set his empty glass on the table at the end of the couch, biting his bottom lip to keep from grinning at the flush he can see rising on Tim’s neck. Jack flops onto the couch behind him, in the seat Rhys just vacated, leg brushing Rhys’s toes as he take up as much spaces as possible. Rhys rolls his eyes; typical.

In front of him, Tim takes a sip of his amber drink, eyes flicking between meeting Rhys’ and looking down. Rhys jolts when a large hand comes down on his ass and he nearly falls face first into Tim’s lap.

He catches himself clumsily and turns to send Jack a nasty look, but Jack just tells him to “get a goddamn move on already.” Rhys turns back to Tim, blowing a strand of hair out his eyes. He crawls forward, using Tim’s shoulders to steady himself, and straddles his lap.

Tim is tense underneath him, anxiously thumbing the lip of the glass still held between them.

Rhys leans in until their noses are nearly touching and they share a breath.

“Um,” Rhys bites his lip, blinking to focus as he looks over the flush that’s spread to Tim’s cheeks. “You’re okay with this, right?”

“Oh my _God_ ,” Jack complains.

Rhys ignores him.

“Oh, I—yeah,” Tim says, a little too enthusiastically. Then, more hesitantly, “I mean, if you are—“

“Alright, let me know when you get to the good bits. I’m getting another drink.” Jack says, and then he’s up off the couch, back at the bar.

Rhys grins and closes the space between him and Tim. He’s too drunk to make it anything other than sloppy, but Tim responds almost immediately. A warm hand presses against Rhys’ lower back, pulling him in closer. Rhys hums when he feels the taut lines of Tim’s body beneath him, pressed close against him. He can’t help his wandering hands then, skirting down to find the hem of Tim’s shirt and sliding beneath it.

Tim’s stomach twitches when Rhys drags his fingers across it, and he breaks the kiss. “Sorry,” Tim says, out of breath. “Kinda…ticklish.”

“Pfft,” Rhys laughs again, tilts his head so he can kiss Tim’s neck. There’s a soft clink, and then there are two hands on him instead of one, roving over his back, his spine. Tim’s fingers brush against the sliver of skin between Rhys’ shirt and his pants, making him shiver.

Rhys sucks at Tim’s neck. “You’re so cute,” he mumbles, rolling his hips and forcing an strained noise out of Tim. “How come Jack’s been hiding you from me?”

“Cause you’re greedy,” Jack says, sliding back onto the couch, legs spread when Rhys glances over. He practically leers at them, one hand moving to his crotch. “And as much as I’d love to watch you two go at it all the time, Timmy does have work to do.”

Rhys rolls his eyes at him, bites at Tim’s collarbone. “I think you just hate sharing.”

“Guilty there, babe. Shirts off.”

Rhys kisses Tim again and reaches for the hem of his shirt, rucking it up with urgency. They only break the kiss when the shirt has to go over Tim’s head. Rhys tosses it aside and bites his lip when he finally gets a good look at Tim. He has abs, honest to god _abs_ —nothing too over the top but definitely there. Rhys drags his fingers down those tight muscles and circles Tim’s navel, reveling in the way Tim grabs at his hips, hands tight.

Rhys wants that chest pressed against him. He leans back and shrugs out of his jacket, then pulls his own shirt up and off, dropping it on the floor. The air is a little chilly on his freshly exposed skin and he moves to lean in again. Tim stops him, one hand pressed against his chest, and his eyes are roving over him—over his tattoos, Rhys realizes.

“Wow, those are…” Tim trails off, tracing the pattern with his fingers, warm and calloused. Rhys shivers under the attention, hips jerking when Tim’s thumb catches on his nipple. Tim plays with his nipple, circling the tender skin with his thumb, and rolls his hips up to meet Rhys’.

Rhys sighs under Tim’s fingers and grinds down, biting his lips when he feels how hard Tim is beneath him. He’s not faring much better, his tight jeans growing even tighter.

“Hey,” Jack whistles to get their attention. Jack’s already unzipping himself and he pulls his cock out, hand wrapped around the base. “Gotta say I’m feeling a little left out over here. C’mere and put that mouth to use.”

Rhys sighs, half-tempted to ignore Jack and stay exactly where he is. But Jack’s already looking impatient and it’s not like Rhys _doesn’t_ want to suck him off. He starts to disentangle himself from Tim, nearly losing his balance in the process.

Tim manages to slip his hands around him, saving him from an embarrassing fall off the couch. It forces their hips together, and they both groan at the sensation. Tim makes a quiet noise of protest even as he helps Rhys climb off his lap.

Rhys frowns as he crawls over to Jack.

“Heya birthday boy,” Jack grins. He grabs Rhys by the back of the head and pulls him in for a hot, open-mouthed kiss. Rhys can barely keep up, dizzy under Jack’s attention. Jack bites his bottom lip and Rhys whines, pulling back. Jack lets him and gestures to his dick, standing hard between them.

Rhys lowers himself to his elbows, reaching for Jack’s cock with his left hand. Jack moves his so Rhys can wrap his own fingers around Jack’s cock, giving it a light squeeze. Jack sighs above him, going boneless against the couch. Rhys leans forward and licks a long stripe up Jack’s length, flicking his tongue against the head when he reaches it.

Behind him, he feels Timothy shift, making the couch dip inward.

“Get him ready for us, why don’tcha, Timmy.” Jack says, one hand curling into Rhys’ hair. “Kid takes dick like a champ, lemme tell ya. Biggest cockslut you ever met.”

Rhys closes his eyes, flushing. “Can you…stop talking. Please.” He mutters, puts his mouth on Jack again so he doesn’t yell at him.

Jack just laughs, fingers tightening in Rhys’ hair. “Tim should know what he’s getting himself into here, cupcake. You should see Tim’s face, all riled up, can’t wait to get you on his dick. Pretty uh…pretty hot, actually. Oh, don’t give me that _look_.”

Rhys frowns, brows furrowed, wonder what look Tim is giving Jack right now. He parts his lips and takes Jack’s cock in his mouth, running his tongue over his slit.

“Ooh, yeah. Like that.” Jack thrusts his hips, forcing Rhys to take more.

Rhys sucks around Jack’s dick, bobbing his head as much as Jack will let him. He tries to stroke him off in sync but he’s _really_ drunk and it’s hard to make his mouth and hand cooperate. It gets even harder when he feels hesitant hands on his back, ghosting across overheated skin.

Tim slips his hands beneath Rhys’ waist and works deftly to pop open the button on his jeans and unzip them. He slides his fingers through the beltloops and tugs them down. Rhys shivers as his thighs are exposed, swallowing around the cock in his mouth. He shifts his legs wider as Tim pulls his jeans down as far as they’ll go, pooling around his knees.

“Cute,” Tim mutters behind him, tugging at the hem of his paw-patterned briefs. Rhys feels himself flush. He’d forgotten he was wearing those. In his defense, he hadn’t been expecting anyone but Jack to see him in his underwear tonight.

Rhys squirms when Tim tugs those down his legs as well, freeing his cock.

“Hey,” Jack snaps, jerking his hips. Rhys realizes he’d been hyper-focusing on Tim for the last few moments and neglecting Jack’s cock, so he makes a noise of apology at the back of his throat and sucks around Jack, hollowing his cheeks. Rhys bobs his head, lips wet with spit and sliding easily along Jack’s length, and Jack sighs in satisfaction.

Two cool, wet fingers slip between his cheeks, nudging right up against his hole. Rhys moans around Jack’s cock, pressing his hips back for more. Rhys feels the excess lube drip from Tim’s fingers, sliding down his balls. Tim starts to press a finger in, and it’s smooth and easy; Rhys is already loose from the alcohol in his system, his cock hard and leaking between his legs.

Tim presses his finger in to the knuckle. Rhys can feel it pressing against him, and the promise of more has him rocking his hips back. Jack’s hand in his hair tightens, and he’s suddenly pulled up off Jack’s cock. Rhys pants as Jack forces his head up and meets his eyes with a smirk.

Jack swipes his thumb across Rhys’ chin, through the mess of saliva and pre-come. He presses it against Rhys’ tongue, who closes his lips around the appendage obediently and sucks. Behind Rhys, Tim slips his finger out and back in before easily slipping a second one in alongside it.

Rhys closes his eyes at the slight stretch, hums when Tim starts thrusting those thick fingers inside him. Fuck, he’s so hard. The tight grip in his hair, Tim stretching him open; it’s too much. Rhys wants to slip his hands between his legs and touch himself—his fingers twitch against the couch and he curls them in against his palm.

“You wanna get off, babe?” Jack asks, tugging on Rhys’ hair, pulling his head up further. Rhys opens watery eyes, meets his gaze and nods. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. We still gotta get two handsome dicks in you.”

Rhys frowns, mumbles around Jack’s thumb in his mouth. “Isn’t it _my_ birthday?”

“Mm, yeah, and I haven’t heard a thank you yet.”

The insult Rhys is about to murmur is cut off by Tim’s fingers curling against his prostate. Rhys moans as his cock twitches; he presses back against those fingers again, tries to fuck himself on them.

“I’m gonna die of blue balls over here,” Jack grumbles. “What’s taking so long, Timmy? You need someone to show you how to do it?”

“What, no—I’m just—being careful,” Tim says, but Rhys is having a hard time following their conversation. Tim’s still moving his fingers, pressing and teasing, and at Jack’s prodding even starts to nudge in a third. “I don’t want to hurt him.”

“Pfft.” Jack snorts. “Rhys likes it to hurt. Don’t you, pumpkin?”

To prove his point, Jack tugs Rhys forward and leans down to put his mouth on his neck. He bites down on sensitive skin, making Rhys gasp and jerk,nerves lighting up even through the haze of alcohol. Jack sucks at the same spot, running his hot tongue across it before pulling away. Rhys’ skin tingles where Jack’s mouth was, and he’s temped to lift his hand to touch it, press his fingers in hard to make sure it bruises.

Tim’s still stretching him, three fingers deep now—but he’s pressing them in quicker now, with more urgency. When he finally pulls them out, Rhys groans, clenching around nothing. Jack pulls his thumb from Rhys’ mouth, hands moving to his pants. He tugs them down his legs and then peels his shirt off, leaving him naked.

Rhys reaches for his own pants and briefs, struggling to pull them off the rest of the way. Tim helps him, tugging them off one leg, then the other, until Rhys is left in nothing but his blue and yellow striped socks. Rhys pushes himself up on wobbly arms to sit on his knees as Jack readjusts himself, turning on the couch to press his back against the arm rest, legs spread wide. His cock is still just as hard, dark and curved and still a little wet from Rhys’ sloppy blowjob.

Rhys crawls toward Jack, wanting nothing more than to be filled by it.

Jack’s hands on his hips stop him before he can climb into his lap. Rhys makes a noise of confusion, but goes easily when Jack turns him around. Tim’s staring at him, at them, his face flushed and dick tenting his pants. Rhys shoots him a crooked smile, then bites his lip when he feels the head of Jack’s cock, huge and hot, press against him.

“Lube.” Jack says and Tim seems to jump out of the trance he was in as he shuffles forward and hands the bottle over. His stomach is inches from Rhys’ face, his clothed dick right beneath it. Rhys frowns and reaches for the button on Tim’s pants. It’s not fair that Tim’s the only one not naked in the room. Tim twitches under his touch, sighs when the button pops open.

Rhys doesn’t get a chance to reach for his zipper; Jack’s slicked himself up and starts pressing into him.

“Ah,” Rhys’ mouth falls open as Jack works the head of his cock into him. The stretch is uncomfortable, always is, and Rhys grabs Tim’s thigh, fingers digging into the fabric of his pants.

Jack groans, hips jerking upwards as he pulls Rhys further onto his dick. “Oh, shit yeah. So tight for me. Fuck.”

Rhys moans as Jack fills him up; his ass throbbing around his dick but it’s so good and a dribble of pre-come slides down his neglected cock. Two hands grip his head, and Tim gently tilts his head up, leans down to kiss him. It’s slow and meandering, nothing like how Jack kisses, and Rhys finds himself leaning into it, eyes fluttering closed.

Jack tugs on Rhys’ hips until he’s flush against his thighs, cock seated all the way inside him. Rhys pants against Tim’s mouth, grinds down against Jack, fingers clenching and unclenching. He whines when Jack doesn’t move, cock inside him but not giving him the friction he needs.

Jack mutters something Rhys can’t quite hear, then pulls him backward until Jack’s chest is pressed against his back. Rhys squirms, Jack’s cock shifting inside him, and grips the back of the couch with one hand, the other winding behind him to grasp at Jack’s hair. Jack grunts, slipping his hands beneath Rhys’ knees and pulling.

“Nngh, Jack.” Rhys feels himself flush redder when Jack forces his thighs to his chest, legs hanging over Jack’s arms, putting Rhys on display. Tim’s eyes dart to Rhys’ face, then to where Rhys and Jack are connected, and back again. He looks like he wants to come closer—Rhys wishes he would.

Jack’s grip on Rhys’ knees tighten and he starts to move, slipping his cock halfway out before thrusting back in.

“Oh, ah, nnmnnn.” Rhys can’t get entire sounds out of his mouth as Jack fucks into him.

“You like it when Daddy fucks you loose and sloppy?” Jack’s breath fans across Rhys’ ear, and then that mouth is back at his throat, biting and sucking and leaving marks.

Rhys shakily nods, leg twitching as Tim reaches out to touch his calf. He feels Jack’s grin against his neck. “You want Timmy to fuck you like that too?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Rhys whines, eyes meeting Tim’s.

“You heard him, handsome,” Jack says. “Take your friggin’ pants off already, Christ.”

Tim swallows and looks down, fingers hovering over his zipper. Whatever was holding him back seems to leave him as he makes quick work of his pants, letting them pool on the floor alongside the pile of clothes already there. His boxers follow and then he’s back on his knees. His cock is just as thick as Jack’s, hard between his legs. Rhys clenches down involuntarily, his own dick twitching at the thought of having them both inside him at once.

A particularly hard thrust from Jack has him gasping, tossing his head back on Jack’s shoulder. The couch dips beneath him and then Tim is there, pressing one hand against Rhys’ stomach. He leans in, captures Rhys’ lips again, his hand traveling lower to brush against Rhys’ cock.

Rhys pries his fingers off the couch to cling to Tim’s shoulder, moaning into his mouth. He tries to kiss back with just as much enthusiasm, but Jack’s still bouncing him on his cock and it just makes their teeth clack together.

“He’s ready for more, c’mon,” Jack says, slowing his hips. “Tired of doin’ all the work here, gotta be honest.”

Rhys can’t help but snort at the ridiculousness of _that_ statement, and Tim grins along with him. Tim snatches the lube bottle up from the ground where Jack had dropped it. He drizzles some across his fingers and leans back in. He kisses Rhys, slips his tongue in his mouth, before pressing a finger against where Jack is thrusting into him.

Rhys clenches his eyes shut when Tim starts to press his finger in alongside Jack’s cock. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s not entirely pleasant, the stretch stepping into uncomfortable territory. Tim keeps kissing him, licking into his mouth, sucking on his bottom lip; he wraps his free hand around Rhys’ cock, making him inhale sharply.

Tim strokes him slowly, hands rough and callused and squeezing around him just right. It helps to lessen the strain, and Rhys rocks his hips into Tim’s hand, and back onto Jack’s cock with quiet moans.

Tim slips a second finger in, stretching and twisting and—Rhys’ breath catches in his throat when those fingers nudge against his prostate.

“Mmn, please, Tim,” Rhys pants. “Fuck me—fuck—“

“God, come _on_ already,” Jack complains. “You hearin’ this kid? He wants your dick, so just stick it in him already or I’m gonna go find some other asshole to finish this threesome with.”

“ _Alright_ already,” Tim says, taking his hands off of Rhys. He swallows and shifts in closer, until Rhys can feel him press against the back of his thighs.

Jack huffs and lifts Rhys up, up until his cock slides out of him complete and Rhys is left clenching around nothing. Tim lubes himself up, and then both Tim and Jack’s cocks are resting against Rhys’ hole. Rhys takes a breath, tries to relax, even as his heart threatens to smash through his ribcage.

They both start to press in together; Rhys bites his lip at the stretch of it, fingers digging into Tim’s shoulder.

“Relax,” Jack says against Rhys’ ear, rolling his hips.

Rhys whines in his throat. He’s _trying_ , Tim and Jack are just both unfairly big and—Rhys is pretty sure, are trying to rip him in half.

Their cocks slip just a little further into him and they both groan. Tim grips Rhys’ flagging erection and he starts to stroke, twisting his hand from base to tip. Rhys jerks his hips in response, arousal flooding through him again.

Tim starts to roll his hips, thrusting into Rhys shallowly, his cock slowly pressing deeper each time. Jack follows suit and soon they’re working in tandem to fill Rhys up entirely. Rhys sighs as he feels himself start to relax, and then finally—Tim groans as he bottoms out, while Jack jerks his hips.

“Fuck,” Tim says under his breath, hand faltering on Rhys’ cock.

“Told ya it’d be good,” Jack says, his voice strained.

“Are you—“ Tim glances at Rhys, whose chest is heaving between them. “Okay?”

“Mm.” Rhys nods jerkily, groaning when Tim squeezes around his cock. “Keep going.”

Jack wastes no time grinding his hips against Rhys’ ass. Tim and Rhys both moan at the movement, and then Tim slips both his hands around Rhys’ hips and starts to move. He pulls out almost entirely before thrusting back in, fucking Rhys with hard, even strokes.

“ _Ah, ah_ ,” Rhys’ mouth falls open as Tim and Jack fuck him, filling him up with every thrust. Rhys’ cock bounces between them, pink and flushed and leaking. Tim leans in, large hands gripping at Rhys’ thighs, forcing his legs up even further. He kisses Rhys again, like he can’t get enough. Rhys kisses back, his eyes stinging, overwhelmed—but somewhere in his hazy, fucked out brain, he thinks he’d like to keep Tim.

Rhys gets lost in the sensation of being so full, fucked by both Tim and Jack at once, the constant push and pull of their hips the only thing grounding him . He cries out and tenses up when Tim thrusts against his prostate, the tension in his gut finally snapping. Rhys comes with white-hot intensity, untouched, crying out against Tim’s mouth. His release spills across his chest, drips down his cock and balls. He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until Tim brushes a tear from his cheek.

Tim and Jack both moan as he goes tight around them, and Rhys’ breath stutters as they continue to fuck him, pleasant friction edging into oversensitivity. Rhys whines, his fingers tightening in Jack’s hair as more tears trail down his face.

Jack comes soon after, biting down on Rhys’ earlobe as his hips stutter. He grinds against Rhys’ ass as he fills him, stilling a moment before slipping his softening cock out of Rhys’ sore hole. Jack doesn’t let go, though, keeping Rhys pressed tight against his chest, legs spread and open.

“Keep going,” Jack says to Tim, though it doesn’t seem that he needs to be told. He snaps his hips, balls slapping against Rhys with an obscene noise. Tim fucks Rhys harder now that Jack’s cock isn’t in the way, trailing his mouth down Rhys’ jaw to lick and bite at skin that Jack had left untouched.

Rhys clings to him, burying his face against Tim’s neck to muffle his cries against his skin. He clenches down around Tim’s cock, ruts his hips up against him even as his oversensitive body protests.

“Tim,” Rhys whines against his neck. “ _Tim_ , _please, please, ah_ —“

Tim groans, hips jerking; Rhys can feel warmth bloom inside him as Tim comes. He sighs as Tim rides out his orgasm, making a couple more abortive little thrusts before stilling. Rhys goes limp between Tim and Jack, breathing heavily. He whimpers when Tim pulls out, leaving his ass empty and incredibly sore.

Jack lets his legs down and Rhys winces when he feels them cramp up. Tim leans back against the other side of the couch, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

“Goddamn, that was hot,” Jack says with a laugh. “Think that’s the best idea I’ve had all month.”

“Bluh,” Rhys says, wiping at his eyes.

Jack pats his thigh. “Alright, up you get, cupcake. Papa’s got work to do.”

Rhys sighs and starts to move, only to groan at the soreness in his body. It’s _everywhere_. He pouts. “No. Okay, one of you is carrying me back to my apartment.”

Jack snorts. “Friggin’ baby. Timmy’ll get you back.”

Tim looks up at them, eyes wide. “Me?”

“Well I sure as shit ain’t carrying him back to that dump.” Jack shoves Rhys forward none too gently, out of his lap. He gets to his feet and starts to redress himself.

“ _Hey.”_

“Plus, you’ve been making googoo eyes at each other this whole time.” Jack says with a shrug. “Don’t think you’re gonna turn down the opportunity. You can even fuck him again if you want.”

Tim goes red.

“Jack, shut up,” Rhys grumbles, gingerly reaching for his clothes. Tim grabs them first, hands them to Rhys with a shy smile.

“I can take you back,” he says. “If you’re okay with that—I mean. Um.”

“He’s fine with it,” Jack snaps, answering for Rhys. He heads to the door, full dressed. “And you’d better be on time in the morning.” Jack points a finger at Tim, and then he’s gone, the door shutting behind him.

Rhys and Tim share a look, before silently getting dressed themselves.

Tim _does_ , a little awkwardly, carry Rhys back to his apartment. Rhys had only been half-serious, but he wasn’t going to turn down the offer.

It’s only when Tim sets him down on his couch, offers to draw him a bath, make him dinner, that Rhys decides for sure that _yes,_ he’s going to keep Tim.


End file.
